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Better Times Will Come - Gareth Bonello (Welsh)

Better Times Will Come - Gareth Bonello (Welsh)


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From Janis: I so hoped for a Welsh adaptation, because to my ear, it's one of the most beautiful languages in the world. Wishes sometimes come true, so meet Gareth Bonello, here by way of my old friend Martyn Joseph. His stage name is "The Gentle Good", an approximate English translation of his first name ('Gareth' = Gentle, Bon = Good). When you visit his site, be aware that 'Cymraeg' is the Welsh name for the Welsh language. And after you've admired his own work, scroll to the very bottom of this page for a wonderful poem Gareth sent me, and search out Nancy Bond's book A String In the Harp, which introduced me to the poet Taliesin and began my love affair with this languageafar.

Welsh adaptation by Gareth Bonello: Fe Ddaw Disglair Ddydd

Fe ddaw’r dydd, Fe ddaw’r disglair ddydd 
Fe ddaw’r dydd, Fe ddaw’r disglair ddydd, 
Pan ddysgwn sut i fyw ynghyd, 
O, fe ddaw disglair ddydd 

Pan groesawn doriad y wawr
‘da chysur anwyliaid gerllaw
Pan fydd maes y gad
Wedi cilio o bob wlad
O, fe ddaw disglair ddydd

Er cymrwn bob ddydd fel y mae
Fe fyddwn ni’n dyfalbarhau
A chydganwn law yn llaw,
Yn y gwanwyn di-ben-draw,
O, fe ddaw disglair ddydd

Direct English Translation: A Bright Day will Come

The day will come 
The bright day will come
The day will come
The bright day will come
When we’ve learned to live as one
O, a bright day will come

When we welcome the break of dawn
With the comfort of loved ones nearby 
When battlefields
Have retreated from all lands
O, a bright day will come

Though we take each day as it comes
We will persevere
And hand and hand we’ll sing
In that eternal spring
O, a bright day will come

Remembrance (Cofio) 
Waldo Williams;  translation by Alan Llwyd

One fleeting moment as the sun is setting, 
One gentle moment as the night falls fast,
To bring to mind the things that are forgotten,
Now scattered in the dust of ages past.

Like white-foamed waves that break on lonely beaches,
Like the wind’s song where no one hears the wind,
They beckon us, I know, but to no purpose –
The old forgotten things of humankind. 

The artistry and skills of early peoples,
Small dwelling-places and enormous halls,
Old well-told tales that have been lost for ages,
The gods that now no mortal could recall.

And little words of languages long-vanished,
Lithe words once lively on the lips of men,
And pretty in the prattle of small children,
No tongue will ever utter them again.

Oh, earth’s innumerable generations,
Their sacred dreams and fragile sanctity,
Is the heart silent that was once acquainted
With sadness and with gladness and with glee ?

Often at close of day, when I am lonely,
I long to know you all, bring all to mind;
Is there a heart or memory still to cherish
The old forgotten things of humankind?

 

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